The Map to You
Author: Lindy Zart
Publisher: Lyrical Press, an imprint of Kensington Publishing
Release Date: November 28th, 2017
Barnes and Noble: http://bit.ly/2skuIZW
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Keeping his inner demons at bay means Blake Malone has more than enough trouble on his plate. He doesn’t need any extra complications. But that’s exactly what he gets when, on his way to North Dakota, he leaves his truck unattended—and returns to find a beautiful woman sleeping in the front seat.
Opal Allen seems to have a knack for attracting trouble. Which is why she isn’t about to tell her new road trip companion the real reason she needs to hightail it out of town. But Blake has a way of seeing right through her, which is both terrifying and exhilarating. Now her biggest problem is figuring out how to resist their undeniable attraction. Because once this road trip is over, she plans on never seeing Blake again.
But the best adventures don’t go according to plan.
Last I checked, I was traveling alone.
I walk to my grandfather’s truck, a 1987 Ford F-series pickup in blue and white, and blink at the small form curled up on the seat.
Under the darkened dome of the sky, it’s hard to discern anything other than the size of the thing inside my truck, and that it has dark hair. It could be a man, a woman—even a kid. I quickly scan the parking lot, searching for any accomplices to a premeditated crime involving yours truly.
It’s the end of August, and the days can be wicked humid and hot, but the same can’t be said for the nights. I have on a light jacket to help keep the chill off my skin. I glance into the cab of the truck. Small as this person is, they have to be feeling the cold.
The night is still and quiet, only two other vehicles taking up parking spaces of the 24-hour convenience store. It’s after midnight on a Wednesday. Most sane people are home and in bed. I focus on the stranger in my truck. Whatever they’re up to, it’s bound to be nefarious. I like my share of nefarious dealings, as long as I’m the one doing them.
Muttering to myself and craving a cigarette, I carefully set down the plastic bag of chips, beef jerky, and orange juice I purchased to curb the hunger gnawing at my gut. I rub the stubble along my jaw, head cocked, as I come to a decision. It’s an easy one—whoever they are, they can’t stay in my truck.
Hands out, palms down, I soundlessly skulk around the front of the truck and toward the passenger side. My eyes shift from side to side in pursuit of any possible friends of theirs hoping to make my night especially spectacular with a blunt object to the back of the head. I feel ridiculous, sure I look like the Pink Panther slinking around in the dark.
My boot kicks a piece of gravel and it pings against the side of the truck my mother secretly kept in a storage unit all these years for me. I didn’t even know the truck was still around until my brother Graham unknowingly drove it from North Dakota to Wisconsin my last week in the Cheesehead state. I just about cried when I saw it. Just about, but not quite—because crying would be bad for my image. My throat burned from keeping it in, though, and when Kennedy, Graham’s girlfriend, commented on the redness of my eyes, I told her it was a reaction to whatever perfume she’d doused herself in.
Smooth, that’s me.
I wince, hoping the rock didn’t do any damage to the truck. This is one of the last pieces I have of the man who never judged me in all the years he was alive. Good thing for my grandfather’s untarnished view of me that my life didn’t completely fall to shit until after he died.
A head snaps up, and large, dark eyes slam into mine. I freeze against the unexpected jolt of them. The woman appears youngish, her face pointy and elfin. Her features are interesting, like it couldn’t be decided whether to make her look exotic or plain. We study one another for one charged moment, and then whatever had her immobile collapses. Her mouth opens in a piercing scream, and she scrambles to the middle of the cab. I jerk back, her reaction startling me.
“What the hell kind of a person creeps up on someone like that?” she accuses. Her voice is breathless, but there is an undertone of huskiness that brings my nerve endings to attention.
I open my mouth with the intention of apologizing, and then realize what I’m about to do. Scowl taking over my features, I grip the door handle and pull. She scoots across the seat with her back to the driver’s side door and, wide-eyed, looks back at me.
“Get out…of my truck,” I say slowly, setting my palms on the worn and torn vinyl upholstery to lean forward menacingly.
*Disclaimer: I received a free copy in exchange for an honest review.
Genre: Paranormal Historical Romance
Publisher: Lyrical Press/Kensington Publishing
Date of Publication: October 6, 2014
Number of pages: 330 Est.
Word Count: 86,500
Cover Artist: April Martinez
Ascension: The Demon Hunters, #1
When demons threaten London, Lady Belinda answers the call.
Lord Gabriel Thurston returns home from war to find his fiancée is not the sweet young girl he left behind. She’s grown into a mysterious woman who guards her dark secrets well. When he sees her sneaking away from a ball, he’s convinced it’s for a lover’s rendezvous. Following her to London’s slums, Gabriel watches in horror as his fiancée ruthlessly slays a man.
Lady Belinda Carlisle’s only concern was her dress for the next ball—until demons nearly killed her and changed everything. A lady by day, and a demon hunter by night, she knows where her duty lies. Ending her betrothal is the best way to protect Gabriel from death by a demon’s hand.
Gabriel soon realizes, like him, Belinda has been fighting for her country. He joins in the fight, determined to show her that their love can endure, stronger than ever.
Lady Belinda Clayton grappled with the creaking iron gate, which led to the back garden of her family’s London townhouse. It was not the first time she had used the unconventional route to make her way back home in the predawn hours. Nor was it the first time her dress had been ruined or her hair tousled in her rush to make her way through the streets without becoming a number on the death toll in the city’s records.
Pushing the gate closed, the rough, cold metal scratched her gloved palm. Once the latch was secured she ran her finger along the jagged tear in her left glove. “Too bad,” she said. She shook her head at the ruined garment. “I really did like this pair.”
“What pair is that, Lady Belinda?” Gabriel’s deep, seductive voice cut through the still night.
His blue eyes were the color of the sea just before a storm and their depths burned into her.
Her stomach did a flip before she had time to control herself. She was sure she
looked flustered and she could have kicked herself for not steeling her nerves before facing Lord Gabriel Thurston, the Earl of Tullering.
She was pleased with the sound of cold detachment in her voice. “Tullering, what on earth are you doing in my garden in the middle of the night?”
“One might ask you the same question, Lady Belinda.” He ran his hand through
his dark hair, loosening it from the ribbon. His cravat had come loose and his evening clothes were crushed. There was something dangerous about an unkempt Gabriel. The gesture was a sign of frustration from the earl. She’d seen it many times.
Her heart raced and she swallowed the panic welling in her gut. “This is my
home, my lord. You do not live here. If I am not mistaken you have a home in London where you should be at this late hour.”
“You are my fiancée.” Even in the moonlight, his face and neck burned red.
“There is no need to remind me.”
He stepped from the terrace onto the cobbled path where she stood. He loomed
over her and filled the air with a mixture of soap, spice and something else male and formidable. The scent was intrinsically Gabriel and entirely delicious.
She was tempted to back away, but forced herself to hold her ground. Her
stubbornness did not stop her heart from racing or her skin from tingling at his nearness.
“Oh, but I think there is a need.” He circled behind her, his mouth inches from her ear.
She set her teeth. “I am well aware of the contract signed between you and my
father four years ago, my lord. I was there when it was signed and I was also there when you left for the continent.” The day he left for the war came flooding back, and so did the memories of her unanswered letters, and the tears she had cried over him. Well, there would be no tears tonight.
“You are angry with me for fighting for our country?” He took a step back.
“But you are angry.”
“You might have written since your concern for our relationship is so evident.”
She’d wanted to sound flippant, but she sounded brooding. She’d been hurt by his silence, and had little hope of hiding the fact.
“I wrote,” he said.
She was pleased the subject had changed to something more defensible. “Three
letters in four years can hardly be considered correspondence, my lord.”
“You use to call me Gabriel.” He murmured.
She stepped away in spite of the pleasant shiver his voice produced. “That was a long time ago.” She made to climb the terrace steps away from him.
“There is still the question of why my fiancée is sneaking through the garden at
four in the morning.”
She turned ready to blast him about having no right to ask her anything. Her
words stuck in her throat.
In the full moonlight, he took her breath away. He was tall and broad and his hair hung loose around his face.
In spite of her anger, she wanted desperately to touch his hair and see if it was still as soft as it looked. “I come and go as I please.”
“So I see,” he said. “Perhaps then, you would be willing to explain why your
dress is six inches deep with mud, why your hair looks as if you’ve been tossing in the sheets, how you got that smudge of dirt on your lovely face, or the hole in those gloves you were just lamenting?”
She wiped some dried mud from her cheek. The resulting dull pain told her she
had revealed a bruise beneath.
His eyes widened and he flew up the steps.
She stepped back. She couldn’t harm Gabriel so she lifted one arm as if to dull a
He froze, staring down at her.
It had been instinct. The last few years had taught her that no one is immune to
violence. A woman must learn to defend herself. If he had been anyone else, she’d have struck him rather than shield herself against an angry fist. She lowered her arm and looked into his piercing eyes. Her heart pounded. She had made an error.
“Do you truly think I would strike you?”
Now that she was thinking clearly again, she hardly knew why she had defended herself. It was foolish. Gabriel would never strike her. Her environment had tainted her. She attempted to remain cold in her explanation. “I hardly know what to think, my lord. We no longer know each other.”
When he touched the tender bruise, she winced, but did not back away.
“And this, Bella, would you care to explain this to me?” His voice was soft and
his touch feather-like, but his eyes narrowed and his posture remained unyielding.
She brushed his touch aside. “Do not call me that.”
“You use to like that name.”
“That was also a long time ago.”
“Not so long,” he whispered. He gazed out into the garden as if lost in some
distant memory. His attention returned to her. “I am waiting for some kind of response from you, Lady Belinda.”
In spite of her need to keep him at a distance, her heart ached when he used the
formal address. Her first instinct was to tell him to go to hell and leave her alone, but that would only provoke him. She lied instead. “I have been at a ball. There was some problem with the carriage, and I was required to walk part of the way. I fell in the mud and some of it must have splattered my face when my dress was ruined.”
He frowned. “And the bruise?”
Deep creases around his full lips drew her in. Desire to tell him everything
bubbled in her gut. She shrugged. “I’m sure it is only dirt. The moonlight makes it seem more dire, and you are exaggerating the situation greatly.”
“I see. Is this all the explanation I can expect?”
“It is what I am willing to say, my lord.” She turned and walked to the house. The door opened just as she arrived and she slipped inside before her fiancé could say more.
Ascension by A.S. Fenichel is an action-packed ride of demon hunting and romance. In a time period where women were expected to be virtually helpless and have ladylike manors, Belinda is one of the fiercest warriors in the demon-hunting Company, which made this story instantly appealing to me. At first Gabriel is not sure what to think about the changes in his fiancée. However, Gabriel is the kind of man who doesn’t just love Belinda for who and what she is but finds her muscular physique and fierce fighting skills alluring despite the fact that these are traits a lady should not possess in this time period. Gabriel’s open mind and devotion to Belinda made him a character I adored. Ascension has plenty of demon butt-kicking, hot romance, and intriguing characters in a wonderfully imagined historical setting. This is the first book of the series (book 2, Deception, is out, with book 3, Betrayal, scheduled for later this year); however, these books can be read out of order without missing anything. I definitely recommend reading this book, and I look forward to the third one.
Ascension can be purchased here:
About the Author:
A.S. Fenichel gave up a successful career in New York City to follow her husband to Texas and pursue her lifelong dream of being a professional writer. She’s never looked back.
A.S. adores writing stories filled with love, passion, desire, magic and maybe a little mayhem tossed in for good measure. Books have always been her perfect escape and she still relishes diving into one and staying up all night to finish a good story.
Multi-published in erotic paranormal, contemporary and historical romance, A.S. is the author of the Mayan Destiny series, Christmas Bliss and many more. With several books currently contracted to multiple publishers, A.S. will be bringing you her brand of romance for many years to come.
Originally from New York, she grew up in New Jersey, and now lives in the East Texas with her real life hero, her wonderful husband. When not reading or writing she enjoys cooking, travel, history, and puttering in her garden.